I Just Wanted To Schedule An Appointment

Yesterday morning I had to take my daughter to the orthodontist to pick up her new retainer and make sure it was a good fit. Her original one was replaced for free as a courtesy, because our old lady dog at the time – who was usually sleeping – summoned enough energy to take up counter-surfing for the first time ever. We found out the hard way that for dogs, dental retainers are delicacies. My daughter burst out in tears when she found the shards of chewed-up, mangled plastic. She was devastated. She had been so responsible with her retainer. She always wrapped it in a napkin during meals and put it out of reach. She never once lost or misplaced it. So the first replacement was a freebie. The replacement retainer lived a while, but eventually broke in half. So, we had to pay for a new one – a third retainer for one child.

As I was checking out, I realized it was almost July, and our dentist had said at least a year ago that we needed to go ahead and make an appointment for Charlie, who (just like our other two) would certainly need braces sooner rather than later. So after I received my payment receipt, almost as an afterthought, I said, “Oh, I need to set up an initial appointment for my youngest.”

“Sure, no problem,” the receptionist said. “Your child’s name?”

“Charlie,” I said, “same last name.”

I no longer give Charlie’s birth name of Charles, because lately Charlie has been thrilled to have been mistaken as a girl. The server in a restaurant who said, “Is your daughter having something to drink?” while pointing to Charlie went over surprisingly well. Even when we’ve asked Charlie, “what do you want us to do when people call you a girl, since your pronouns are they/them?” Charlie says, “just roll with. I don’t mind it if they think I’m a girl.” But, Charlie is still pretty vocal about not wanting to transition or be a girl.

It’s a complicated thing, because this whole notion of gender is deeply personal, while at the same time… not. We live in a city where we run into people we’ve known for years. From birth through 5th grade, Charlie used he/him/his pronouns. No one ever mistook Charlie for a girl. Then in 5th grade, Charlie began presenting like a girl. Growing their hair out long, wearing all “girls” stuff from the tween girl’s clothing store, Justice. From their headband adorned with giant hot pink flowers, down to their glittery pink & purple Twinkle Toe Sketchers, and everything in between: “girls” witty captioned t-shirts, sparkly jackets and coats, tight jeggings, and neon peach sweatpants, for instance, Charlie looked like a girl. But Charlie was still a boy, and Charlie still went by he/him/his/my son.

I’ve always said it’s kind of impossible for a child to be private about their gender. For one thing, they can’t just pick up, move to a different state, and start a new life like an adult might be able to do, if they want to be completely anonymous. But it’s kind of impossible also because other kids don’t know the distinction between sex assigned at birth and gender. Heck, most adults don’t know the distinction, either. Invariably, if it’s not obvious, kids will bluntly ask, “Are you a boy or a girl?” But adults have a little more tact in those situations.

So, it’s just harder with young kids. Unless they’re incredibly enlightened or proactively planning, elementary school teachers are engaging in gender-segregated practices daily: “Girls line up here, boys line up there; I like the way the girls are working quietly; Boys, you’re getting rowdy over there; At lunch today you are to sit boy/girl/boy/girl; We’re going to play a game, boys against girls; If you’re a girl who needs a bathroom break, raise your hand; Who’s the main character in the story? Is the main character a boy or a girl?” etc., etc. For non-binary, or enby kids, those moments in school are constant, brutal reminders that their gender identity doesn’t matter – or worse – doesn’t exist.

Then the receptionist asked, “When’s his birthday?”

She said “his.” I bit my lip and realized what I needed to do next. My daughter, who hates having attention drawn her way for any reason unless she specifically requests it – and even then it’s questionable – sensed what was about to happen and said, “Mom, can I please go wait in the car?” Earlier, while chatting with the orthodontic tech and then paying the bill, I had answered “no” to this request. I didn’t want her sitting alone in the car, even though she does have her learner’s permit and can safely sit ten feet away from me in the car with the doors locked. This time I quickly handed her the keys and said, “yes.”

I leaned in a little and lowered my voice to almost a whisper. “So…,” I started, “Charlie is not ‘he.’ Charlie is non-binary and goes by “they/them.” She tilted her head to the side like my puppy does when confused and looked over her glasses at me, one eyebrow raised. “I know this is an awkward conversation to have,” I continued, “so I appreciate your willingness to help out however you can with regards to your record-keeping.”

She nodded as if to assure me, “Okay. I got you,” and then fixated on her computer screen. I suppose she was weighing the options she was presented with, and then with a little polite hesitation said, “Sooo… shall we refer to Charlie as ‘she?'” I leaned in a little closer. “No. I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this is difficult to understand and possibly even weird, but my child is not male or female. My child is non-binary. My child is gender non-conforming.” She still wasn’t understanding. I went on a little longer than I would with a stranger, because it seemed this appointment was not going to get settled until the pronouns were settled.

“Charlie was assigned male at birth,” I continued, “but Charlie expresses and presents like a girl. However, Charlie is not ready, or does not want to transition to become a girl. So we’re in this kind of hard-to-understand area where Charlie feels like just a person instead of a boy or a girl.” By now she was starting to look concerned over my level of sanity. Meanwhile, I noticed that the other lady behind the desk with her back turned to us previously, now had her head turned to the side in our direction and was obviously listening.

Clearly, this was new territory for them. I decided to level the conversation a bit, speak a language I felt could be understood. “Charlie may or may not be transgender. Charlie’s only 11.” This, they both understood. Receptionist #2 began nodding her head to show she understood, and the main receptionist suddenly went from concerned to consoling. “Oh.” She said out loud with a frown, subtext: you poor thing. I quickly clarified with a smile, “I’m just trying to be a supportive parent.” She then perked up following my lead, and confessed in a hushed tone, “Well, we have had kids as patients here who were transitioning, but they’ve always been firm about boy or girl pronouns. So that’s why I’m a little confused. I don’t know that we’ve had any patients yet who go by ‘they’.” I halfheartedly smiled and joked, “well, now you do! What prize do we get for being the first?”

We still hadn’t settled the pronoun thing, though. Without saying the words, I could infer what she was trying to tell me was that there was no option for “they/them,” or “enby,” or “other” out of the gender pull-down list on her computer screen. In my anxiousness I needed to fill the awkward silence. Between my hunger for peace and hatred of asking people do extra work, I said more than I needed to. “So, yeah. Charlie may or may not transition. Or, Charlie may stay non-binary forever… it’s just… Charlie’s 11. I don’t think we’re at a place where we’re ready to make big decisions…” I said more, but not really much of anything different.

David Spade, as the fictional, pretentious receptionist for Dick Clark, who coined the snarky catchphrase, “And you are…?” It was one of my favorite SNL skits from the 1980s.

Both ladies now were giving me their full attention. Both the receptionist in front of me and the one behind her looking sideways were nodding in validation and approval for something I was not actually trying to say. I immediately realized I came across as if I was implying Charlie is too young to have a sex change. Which is not at all what I wanted to imply since all of that is inaccurate information. I had just unwittingly perpetuated the whole kids being “too young to know their gender” false narrative, and the “sex change” outdated terminology and myth that genital surgeries occur before adulthood by reputable doctors in this country.

Both of them were nodding and commiserating. Receptionist #2 said, “That’s right. I get it. I know it’s a struggle – those big decisions.” Main receptionist said, “I can’t imagine what that confusion must be like for a child.” I then started trying to back-pedal a bit, “Well, it’s not confusion. It’s just–” But she cut me off saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean confusion. I don’t know what I meant. I guess I just imagine you have to go everywhere all the time not knowing how other people will react, or what people might say.” She chuckled a tiny bit before saying, “And you just wanted to schedule an appointment!” I laughed and said, “Yeah. We never know who might be accepting or not.” She said, in all seriousness, “it shouldn’t be that way.”

After thinking a minute, she said, “I’m just going to put a personal note in here that I’ll share with the orthodontist and anyone working with Charlie. Let me read this back to you to make sure I’m getting it right.”

She got it right.

After going through the insurance info and other stuff, I had to settle for the only appointment I could get since summer fills up at warp speed and I had dragged my heels on this one. I entered the date into my phone and told them how much I appreciated their willingness to have this conversation, to listen, and to help us out in any way possible. They ended up thanking me. I turned and walked out thinking, I totally should’ve found a TGNC-friendly orthodontist for Charlie. I mean, I do have a list (albeit small) of trans-friendly practitioners. Okay, maybe the closest orthodontist would’ve been like an hour away, but why the hell didn’t I just use that? Wow, I really suck at this. Then I thought, oh well, at least it should be easier for the next person who has to go through this.

I glanced at the clock on my phone just before entering the car. Thirty-two minutes had passed from the time my daughter asked one last time if she could go out to the car and wait and I said yes, because I knew she didn’t want to make a scene. And I had promised her this would be a “quick, in-and-out appointment.” This, after having woken her up at the crack of dawn on her summer break, after a restless night where she didn’t fall asleep until 2:00 a.m. I had to wake her up after she’d had only a few hours of sleep because I forgot to remind her to set her alarm, or even to tell her that we had this appointment in the first place.

“Wow, that took forever,” she exclaimed, not looking up from her Snapchat story. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I spent thirty minutes negotiating pronouns – something that the older teens of her generation just “get” without having to ask too many questions. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I’d unintentionally sabotaged her “quick, in-and-out” appointment to deal with the pronoun thing at all. So I just said, “Yeah. They were pretty booked. It was hard to find something that worked for everyone.” Because that was the truth.

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Martie Todd Sirois (pronounced 'sir-ROY') is a writer whose work has been frequently featured on HuffPost, Medium, Scary Mommy, and several other media outlets. Martie is also the mom who wrote & posted a letter on social media in 2016 that went viral, thanking the tween girls' clothing store Justice. In the turbulent aftermath of her state's notorious anti-LGBTQ law, HB2 (the "bathroom bill"), Martie wanted to thank Justice for giving her (then, gender creative son) a wonderful and affirming experience despite local government trying to mandate public accommodations (including bathrooms, locker rooms, and changing facilities) to be gender segregated exclusively by the sex indicated on one's birth certificate. She hoped by making her Facebook post public, she could let her local LGBTQ+ community know that this store was an affirming environment for TGNC kids. She never expected it to go viral, but within a few days of publishing it, that letter had been shared over 25,000 times, and two years later, continues to be circulated widely around the internet, with new people discovering it and seeking Martie out to relay how much her letter touched them for various reasons.
Martie has also been featured on BuzzFeed, Upworthy, That Odd Mom, Spoke for Red Tricycle, The Good Men Project, Today Show Parenting Community, and many other media outlets. Some of her work has been translated and syndicated worldwide.
While she has enjoyed a 30+ year “hobby career” performing on stage as an award-winning actress in both musical and non-musical theatre, Martie now enjoys using her free time to write about any and everything - but mostly about life with three children, the youngest of whom has been gender non-conforming since the age of 2 1/2 years old. In the process of learning how best to support a TGNC child who avidly swims against the current, Martie has also unwittingly (but lovingly) become a speaker, educator, and advocate for the LGBTQ and especially, the TGNC (trans and gender non-conforming) communities.
As someone who "writes for therapy" and has kept numerous journals all her life, Martie got her first public and professional writing experience when she read some of her blog material out loud for the first time ever, in an audition, and was then cast in the national live reading event series, Listen To Your Mother (RDU, 2016). For eight years, LTYM gave local writers across all 50 states and Canada a platform to read their original work on motherhood (or about mothers) before a live audience, and to have their readings enshrined forever on the YouTube LTYM channel. LTYM opened up many opportunities for Martie, starting with sharing some of her work on WUNC Radio's (NPR affiliate, NC) "The State of Things" with Frank Stasio. (LTYM, founded by Ann Imig, concluded its eight-year run with a national series finale in 2017.)
For her writing, Martie has also been interviewed by John Fugelsang on SiriusXM Insight's "Tell Me Everything, With John Fugelsang;" by The Washington Post; by Kind World of WBUR Radio (NPR, Boston); and she particpated with her husband and TGNC child in "StoryCorps," the prestigious Peabody award-winning podcast that shares important unscripted conversations, with weekly broadcasts debuting on NPR's "Morning Edition." Martie's family's story was one of the recorded stories chosen by StoryCorps to be publicly aired in or around September of 2017.
Martie is also the founder and leader of S.E.A.R.CH. (Safe Environmient for the Acceptance of Rainbow CHildren), a program of the LGBT Center of Raleigh, that serves as a playgroup for TGNC children ages 12 and under, and as a discussion group for parents. S.E.A.R.CH. also has a secret Facebook group which currently allows over 260 members, from all over the country and beyond, to celebrate, and have connections with other parents & caregivers supportively raising TGNC children.
Martie has proudly served on The Family Equality Council, (Southern Advisory Board), and greatly enjoys opportunities to guest lecture or speak on gender, inclusiveness, gender diversity, and the issues facing TGNC people. She has presented on these topics at a range of locations, from public universities like NCSU, to more private settings among public school guidance counselor meetings. Martie also spoke on a panel that presented on the topic of creating safe & inclusive spaces for LGBTQ+ students, in the Safe Schools of NC's annual Conference for Educators.
When not working or writing, Martie loves living and volunteering in her hometown in NC with her husband, Matt, their three beautiful children, and their two peculiar but lovable pets.
Visit her online at: www.gendercreativelife.com
Twitter: @TheMartieSirois